


One Giant Leap

by The Black Sluggard (Hazgarn)



Series: Zeitgeist [1]
Category: Castle, Heroes - Fandom, NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, First Kiss, Foreshadowing, Future Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Romance, Science Fiction, Slash, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazgarn/pseuds/The%20Black%20Sluggard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I know this is crazy, but it's real. When it's over, go ahead and believe it was all a dream. You'll know better soon enough. I can't give you much without risking events still ahead of you. You've been pulled into the future. Your future. My present."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Giant Leap

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [**ryanandesposito**](http://ryanandesposito.livejournal.com/)'s July ficathon on LiveJournal.  
>  I'm fudging the timeline for both shows to make this work. Takes place after "Last Call" but before "Nikki Heat" for _Castle_ , and before "Brave New World" for _Heroes_. More or less... This is actually prologue for a larger fic, a very bizarre multi-crossover series I've been constructing. It mostly foreshadows the general shape of where it's universe would be headed.  
> 

_**fugue, n.** _  
_1\. A composition in classical music in which two or more voices build on a subject (theme) that is introduced at the beginning and recurs frequently in the course of the composition._  
 _**fugue state, n.** _  
_1\. A rare psychiatric disorder characterized by reversible amnesia for personal identity, including the memories, personality and other identifying characteristics of individuality._

* * *

  
The shift was so abrupt that Javier would have dropped his beer—if it had still existed to fall from his hand. Disoriented, he nearly lost his footing on damp marble steps that hadn't been there a second before. Something gripped the arm of his jacket, saving him from taking a spill. The touch anchored him, and he found himself clutching back as his mind struggled to take in the sudden noise of the crowd filtering around him. The sunlight reflected off the water with desperate, blinding brightness despite the chill bite of the wind snatching at his clothes.  
  
For several seconds he was helpless to mount any reaction to his predicament, pulse hammering painfully in his temples. His eyes squeezed shut against the confusion, a rushing sound filling his ears that drowned out the chaos around him. He sucked in a few shaky breaths, the cold air stinging the back of his throat.  
  
" _Javier?_ "  
  
The voice surfaced slowly, rising above the ringing in his ears and the ambient hum of human traffic.  
  
"Earth calling Javier?"  
  
His eyes snapped open as he registered that someone was shaking his arm. Turning around he didn't recognize the man who stared at him with concern. His detective's instincts kicked in where comprehension failed, cataloging the details: tall, Caucasian, tanned, age somewhere on the cusp of forties and fifties, green eyes and dark brown hair that was beginning to grey. He was dressed in a dark leather coat with a light turtleneck underneath. From the way it gathered at his waist, Javier thought he was more than likely armed. Javier took some moderate comfort from the familiar weight that told him so was he.  
  
Javier also noticed he still had a death-grip on the man's arm. Working his fingers free of the leather, Javier saw that his hands were shaking. He shoved them into his pockets. The man hung back, watching him carefully, eyes apparently taking in his condition, as if ready to jump in again in case...  
  
"Hey, you okay? You just cut off mid-sentence and...wobbled. For a second I thought you were going to pass out."  
  
"I..." Javier surprised himself by finding his voice, even fumblingly. "Yeah."  
  
The man didn't seem convinced.  
  
Javier dragged his hand across his forehead, and it came back damp with chilled perspiration. Squaring his shoulders against the wind that was beginning to penetrate his jacket—or possibly had been for some time—Javier took a step down the stairs. He felt the man's presence at his back as he followed. He traced his path through the crowd, taking in his surroundings now that he was more centered. The steps they were descending were pristine white marble, leading down from a round Greek-style building that held a tickle of familiarity, though he couldn't place it. At the base of the steps a populated walkway curved along the edge of some kind of lake or pond. Just beyond that—  
  
His thoughts hung as his eyes focused on a slash of white against the blue sky, jogging recognition and surprise that stopped him in his tracks, and a sick apprehension twisted in his stomach. There was simply no explanation for what he was seeing.  
  
Only minutes ago, Javier had been at the Old Haunt in Manhattan, enjoying a cold drink on a hot summer evening. He and his partner, Kevin Ryan, had made a modest wager on how late into the evening conversation between Kate and Castle would go sour. Not _whether_ it would. It always did. It was just a matter of patiently waiting out the winner. Only minutes ago, it had been nine-forty-six, and Kevin had watched with smug amusement as Kate rolled her eyes at some comment. Her voice was low, the words of her reply just for Castle, but her irritation carried quite clear.  
  
(So close. Only fourteen minutes shy of ten, when _Kevin_ would have been the one paying for both their drinks that night.)  
  
Now, he stood exposed to the cold mid-morning wind. Over the tops of red-leafed autumn trees he could see what his eyes were telling him—but which his mind refused to believe—was the Washington Monument. A man didn't wake up and go about his day in one city, only to find himself suddenly in another several states away. He wanted to believe it was some kind of dream, but it all felt so acutely real: his clothes, damp with terrified sweat from his earlier panic turning cold in the morning air, the stinging prickle of the fingers in his pockets as they warmed. He'd probably lost his gloves again. Kevin always got on his case when he forgot his gloves...  
  
A guarded glance over his shoulder sought out the other man's uncertain gaze.  
  
"What were we talking about, again?" Javier asked, hoping to cover his reaction.  
  
"You were telling me about your partner's meeting with the Secretary of Defense later today."  
  
"Ryan," Javier said, keeping it as a non-question, hoping to avoid tipping his hand to his confusion.  
  
" _Yeah_ ," the man said, nodding slowly, though the way he stretched out the word made it clear he knew that something was wrong. "You said it reminded you of the day we met. _Which_ , by the way, was where you totally lost me. I wasn't nervous... Well, okay, maybe I was a _little_ nervous visiting Hannibal Lector back then. Still, nowhere near the basket-case level you've been describing."  
  
"Right." It was getting difficult to navigate the conversation without the details the man expected him to have. "I guess I forgot, whatever it was."  
  
" _Really_?" the man said, drawing the word out like he had before. "Because, whatever it was, it seemed important enough for us to leave the office and come all the way out to the Mall to talk about it."  
  
Shit.  
  
"Look," Javier said, taking a step back to put some distance between them. He didn't know what this guy's reaction would be. "I don't—"  
  
"Wait. _Wait_!" the man said suddenly, pointing at Javier with enough excitement that several people's heads turned toward them. He seemed to notice and let a few moments pass before closing the distance between them and leaning in to speak more quietly. "You're having one of your Billy Pilgrim episodes, aren't you?"  
  
"My...what?"  
  
If Javier didn't know what it felt like to be totally lost _before_ , he did _now_.  
  
" _Slaugherhouse-Five_? No?" The man seemed surprised by the lack of recognition. " _The Butterfly Effect_? _The Jacket_? _The Timetraveler's Wife_?"  
  
Dumbfounded silence was all Javier had to offer. That, and what was probably a very blank expression. Noticing, the stranger saw fit to clarify, as if it were one of the cheap questions on _Millionaire_ and he'd somehow missed the obvious.  
  
"A man, unstuck in time, bouncing around through the years of his life at random."  
  
It was like trying to deal with Castle in the middle of one of his crazier theories. Only now, unlike those times with Castle, there was nothing to reassure him that this lunatic wasn't about to stab him savagely in the neck.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Javier said, his response decidedly diplomatic. As in, he'd _decided_ telling the man he was insane was probably a bad idea, because by his estimation it looked to be a rather large pistol the guy was wearing under that Italian leather.  
  
"See? That just proves my point," the man said, flashing a grin. "Because if you were the you _I_ knew, you'd know this stuff, because you were the one who told _me_."  
  
"Told you what?"  
  
"Told me that you should check your wallet," the man answered triumphantly. With the almost childish excitement on his face, he really _did_ remind Javier of Castle...  
  
"I— What?"  
  
"Just...humor me, okay?"  
  
After a moment's consideration, Javier did as the man said. The fact that loosening his jacket would make it easier to reach his gun was an argument in favor of that action, anyway. Still, he kept his movements slow and deliberate as he reached into his interior pocket. The wallet was just where it should be, thought it was different from the one he'd been expecting. Javier flipped it open. Though the wallet itself was unfamiliar, the contents were unsurprising: his driver's license, credit cards, some cash. The photos inside were odd. Not unusual, but a few were unfamiliar, like the one of him and Kevin at Castle's bar and...  
  
And last time he checked, his sister only had _one_ kid.  
  
Darting his eyes up to watch the other carefully, Javier tried to get his head around the story he was being asked to believe. He could practically hear Castle narrating it in his head. _Imagine, if you will, a man catching a steaming pile of his own future straight to the face..._ Some nonsense like that. He was starting to feel light-headed again. Trying to focus, he scanned the pictures a second time. Something in the photo of him and his partner caught his eye.  
  
 _Is that the shirt I was wearing?_  
  
Javier reviewed his memory of the night before things went completely to hell. It definitely looked like Kevin was wearing the same tie. On impulse, he took the photograph from it's sleeve and turned it over, thinking there might be a date printed on the paper. Instead, he found a note written on the back...  
  
It was in his handwriting.  
  
 _"I know this is crazy, but it's real. When it's over, go ahead and believe it was all a dream. You'll know better soon enough. I can't give you much without risking events still ahead of you. You've been pulled into the future. Your future. My present._ _You can trust Tony to watch your six. He can take you to Kevin. Just don't trust him for anything else, he's worse than Castle."_  
  
The note wasn't signed. Though, crazily, he couldn't imagine why it would have to be.  
  
"At least that makes sense now."  
  
The comment from the peanut gallery interrupted his thoughts—if one could even use the word for the incoherent snarl his mind was in.  
  
"What?" Javier stared at the man, at a loss to how anything could make sense ever again after this...  
  
"When you said Ryan's meeting reminded you of the day we met. You weren't talking about the day _I_ met _you_. You were talking about the day _you_ met _me_. Because it's _today_ , and everything that happened then is happening now. Like _Spaceballs_."  
  
Javier had a headache. He felt he was entitled to one under the circumstances. It seemed like a welcome alternative to trying to think at the moment.  
  
"And you are?" Javier asked simply, though from the comparison to Castle in both the note and his own thoughts, he had a guess that it was pointless to ask.  
  
"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, at your service."  
  
The man—Tony—grinned brightly, offering his hand. Javier didn't take it. If he really knew this guy, then his future self could apologize later for being a prick.  
  
"Special Agent," Javier observed flatly, still trying to get his bearings in this bizarre scenario. "FBI?"  
  
"NCIS. That's the—"  
  
"I know what that is," Javier stated simply, though his mind still wasn't connecting all the dots. _Clearly_. "So you're a Navy cop. How do we know each other?"  
  
"We work together on a taskforce consulting with LEOs on specials-involved crimes."  
  
Javier's brow furrowed at the unfamiliar phrase. Watching Tony, he could practically hear the breaks squeaking in the man's head as he brought himself up short.  
  
"Look," Tony said, "I don't know how much of this I should even be telling you. Time is...weird, and _you're_ the expert on it, not me. Only Elvis has kind of left the building as far as that experience is concerned."  
  
"Fine," Javier bit out testily, feeling more than a little condescended to. "Then just...take me to Ryan, okay?"  
  
It was what his future self had suggested, after all. There was a clearly defined path in front of him, at least, and allowing himself to be lead from points A to B struck him as the simplest strategy. Also, Javier thought he might feel more grounded if he could just see a familiar face. Maybe it was a bit irrational, but somehow just knowing that Kevin was in the same city— _somewhere_ —managed to calm his thoughts just a little.  
  
"This is us," Tony said eventually, arms sweeping with an exaggerated flourish as they drew to a stop beside an older model car tucked away in a nearby lot.  
  
Javier wasn't really a car guy. So, okay, he'd dreamed of owning some sleek hot Italian machine since he was maybe ten, but he wasn't a gear head the way some guys were. He didn't have the passion, the money or the time. Though even with his lack of technical knowledge he could tell the car was in excellent condition: pristine chrome and pale metallic green shining in the sunlight. It was, quite honestly, a thing of beauty.  
  
"Sweet ride," Javier offered appreciatively as Tony's expectant pause continued to lengthen. The agent blinked in surprise.  
  
"'Sweet ride?'" Tony asked, surprised and sounding almost offended. "This isn't a sweet ride. _This_ is a 1958 Aston Martin DB Mark III. This is _James Bond's_ car. In the books, anyway. In the movies it was actually a Mark—"  
  
"Okay, alright," Javier said quickly, holding up his hands defensively against the assault. "I apologize for insulting your girlfriend."  
  
"Yeah," Tony said with a snort, his smile shamelessly wistful, "I _wish_ she was mine."  
  
Javier's eyes narrowed. Searching through the pockets of his jacket he located a set of keys. He ran a hand over his face. He had a feeling that headache wasn't _ever_ going away. With a sigh he held the keys out to the other man. Hesitantly.  
  
" _Only_ ," Javier clarified firmly, "because you know where the hell we're going, alright?"  
  
Tony nodded solemnly, though his grin looked almost painful.  
  
"Of course. Don't worry, I know how to take care of a classy lady like this." Tony paused as he unlocked the driver door. "But, uh... Just make sure Kevin knows it was _your_ idea to let me drive his James Bond car?"  
  
Javier winced, but said nothing as he settled into the passenger seat.  
  
It wasn't until the engine had started and Tony had edged them out into traffic that Javier managed to catch sight of himself in the side mirror. He managed to cover his startled noise with a cough. The changes were subtle, for the most part, lines at the eyes and mouth that definitely hadn't been there that morning. He had grown his hair out some, apparently, which suited the grey that was beginning to creep in at his temples. It also made him look a bit like his father.  
  
Tony glanced aside, seeming to accept his surprise with sympathy.  
  
"It's 2018. In case you were wondering."  
  
He hadn't been. Javier hadn't had a chance to slow down long enough to wonder or ponder anything. He wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful for the information. Maybe he didn't look half bad, but the eight or nine years that he'd missed had worked him over pretty good for being just over forty.  
  
"So I guess that 2012 stuff was nonsense, then, huh?" Javier managed weakly after too long a silence.  
  
"Not for lack of trying," Tony muttered softly with an awkward shrug.  
  
The rest of the drive passed uncomfortably. Tony grated visibly at the silence as it stretched on, hands fidgeting on the steering wheel. When eventually they pulled past lot security, Javier realized with yet more surprise that they'd arrived at the J. Edgar Hoover Building. As they got out of the car, Tony fielded his questioning look with a vague answer.  
  
"The DSA only formed a few years ago. Since cases occasionally overlap, we wound up sharing space with the FBI. And it keeps us close to certain... _indispensable resources_."  
  
The words had the sound of a euphemism used often. A touch of anger showed very briefly past Tony's otherwise light demeanor. That anger hadn't shown itself earlier when Javier had made mention of the Bureau, leading him to believe that whatever ill feelings Tony kept hidden were specific to the "resources" his department and the FBI shared.  
  
 _Their_ department, he was forced to remember only moments later as they carded through security and the man at the door offered Javier a familiar nod.  
  
As they walked the halls he did his best to seem at ease, as though he belonged there. In his years with the NYPD Javier had been forced to work with the FBI on numerous occasions. As heavy-handed and uncompromising as the Feds could be when they pushed their way in and started stepping on toes, however, he had never felt intimidated by them. There was no logical reason that he should feel that way now—if logic counted for anything at all anymore.  
  
Still, he felt a touch of apprehension at that moment, intimidated as they strode into the heart of the viper's nest, so to speak. The thought was so out of character that he snorted.  
  
An unfortunate outburst that was followed by an unexpected jag of hysterical laughter.  
  
"Sorry. I, uh—" Javier covered his mouth for a few seconds as Tony watched him, not daring to remove it until he was sure there wouldn't be a repeat. "Is there somewhere I could..."  
  
Tony gave a shallow nod. "Sure. C'mon."  
  
The agent lead him down a side hallway, one that was thankfully lacking the bustling traffic that surged through the rest of the building. They came to a stop outside a pair of restrooms. Before he could duck inside— _Escape_ , he accused himself mockingly—Tony laid a hand on his shoulder. Javier looked at it warily.  
  
"I've had days like this," Tony confided. "I mean, not exactly _this_ , but, just... I get it."  
  
Those last words were said with such sincerity that Javier chose to believe him, though it made him wonder what kind of life the man lead that he could say so. The only response he allowed himself, though, was a wordless noise as he slipped through the door into blessed solitude.  
  
Given time on his own, Javier should have been able to collect his thoughts. He just wasn't sure where to begin. Still, it was imperative that he get a grip on himself. He ran the tap cold, the cool water on his face an neck didn't shock him awake or do anything so magical as calm him down, but washing away some of the sweat of his earlier panic made him feel a little less grubby. As he dried his hands, he noticed a lighter band on the ring finger of his left hand. He didn't have long to ponder the detail, however.  
  
When he entered, Javier had been certain he was alone. Though, with his thoughts as jumbled as they were he supposed he probably just missed the sound of the door opening. All he knew was that, as he straightened away from the sink, Kevin was suddenly there beside him.  
  
"Shit, man," Javier swore, having simply had too many shocks and too recently to help himself. "You scared me."  
  
Kevin's eyes searched his with concern. Apart from the worry creasing his forehead, his partner didn't seem to have changed very much. Evidence toward this experience being a dream, perhaps. It was impossible for him to imagine Kevin looking like anything but a giant kid. Still, if it was a reality, Javier couldn't find it in him to be surprised that Kevin should carry the years that had passed much lighter than he did.  
  
"Rough morning?" Kevin asked finally, putting out a hand to squeeze his shoulder gently.  
  
"You could say that," Javier allowed, marveling at what had to be the king of all understatements.  
  
"Hey, _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be freaking out, remember?" Kevin managed with a smile, though one that was oddly speculative. "Maybe we should try and distract each other."  
  
"Yeah," Javier let out a scoffing snort. "Something tells me there isn't anything _that_ distracting."  
  
" _Kaffeebärchen_ ," Kevin said, his voice taking on a tone that was as foreign and confusing to Javier as the word itself—fond, teasing, playful, but not really any one of those. Javier was certain he'd never heard it from his partner before. "I think I'll take that as a challenge."  
  
Kevin's sudden grin didn't provide nearly enough warning as he pulled Javier in by the lapels of his jacket. His partner's lips made contact with his, a warm hand slipping over the back of his neck. It wasn't until Kevin's tongue slid under his that Javier's brain caught up with what was happening. His eyes flew wide. When he managed to get his arms under his control and shove Kevin away, the other man's expression of confusion and shock was nearly identical to his own. Too stunned to react he could only stare, dry mouthed, as Kevin ran his tongue over his lower lip. Then, as he watched, his partner's expression shifted away from shock and into a sick comprehension.  
  
"You're in a time-fugue. I, uh—" Kevin wiped a hand over his face, though his sheet-white expression of horror and regret refused to be washed away so easily. "Shit, Javi. I'm sorry."  
  
"What—"  
  
As difficult as they had been to find in the first place, his words were interrupted by the sound of an opening door as Tony peered into the restroom.  
  
"Are you okay in—" Tony cut off abruptly, seeming surprised by Kevin's presence. Javier had no idea what the agent might have gleaned from the scene in front of him, but clearly came up with his own interpretation, if his nervous smile was any indication.  
  
"Definitely _The Timetraveler's Wife_ ," Tony commented inanely. Kevin's shoulders tensed, and he fixed the agent with an irritated glare.  
  
" _Tony_."  
  
"Alright, fine, I'll just..."  
  
Tony beat a quick retreat—at least to the other side of the door. Once the target of his annoyance was out of view Kevin visibly wilted.  
  
"Look, I..." Kevin hesitated, running a hand through his hair. For a while, his partner refused to meet his eyes. If Javier knew the man in front of him at all he read that Kevin felt more than a little guilty. "I, uh, can't explain that."  
  
Javier made a soft noise in response, more to confirm that his lungs still worked than anything else.  
  
"I mean, I _can't_ Javi. The, uh...timeline," Kevin said, sounding earnest enough, though an apologetic tone said he was aware of how lame the excuse sounded. "Knowing Tony, he's probably told you too much already."  
  
"Sure, bro. Whatever you say," Javier's voice was stunned, dull and empty.  
  
He just didn't have it in him to argue. Javier couldn't see that there was anything in need of explaining, anyway. Which wasn't to say it made any sense, and a part of him was still waiting for the punchline, but as far as it went the kiss had spoken for itself pretty damned well.  
  
"I was taking a moment to put myself together here," Javier said, running a hand over his jaw. He only just managed enough control over the motion to avoid touching his lips. "Can I just, er, finish my moment?"  
  
"Sure. Yeah. Okay," Kevin said, each word punctuated by an almost invisible nod.  
  
Kevin's eyes watched him up to the moment the door clicked closed, shining with a light of fear that Javier couldn't begin to fathom. Almost as though, once Javier was out of sight, Kevin expected him to disappear.  
  
Silence wrapped back around him on the outside, leaving only the panic beating a frantic rhythm in his chest. Javier rested his weight against the wall—only, really the word was _collapsed_. He was feeling light headed again, and only his iron grip on the edge of the sink kept him standing.  
  
If this bizarre episode did turn out to be some sort of mad dream then it was by far the most vivid Javier had ever had, because Kevin's mouth had felt as real as anything he'd experienced in his life. Yet, oddly, that wasn't the detail which most supported the possibility that somehow, _somehow_ it was all really happening. Javier had never been attracted to another man, let alone his best friend. _Ever._ Not even in his dreams. So maybe he couldn't remember any of the past eight years, but his body must have, because muscle memory was the only way he could explain his reaction. How he'd angled his mouth and parted his lips just... _so_.  
  
Like kissing Kevin Ryan was something he did every day.  
  
At least now he could take a cold comfort in knowing what had tipped Tony off to the fact that he wasn't exactly...himself. Because if they were sleeping together, there was no way he—his future self—would still casually refer to Kevin by his last name.  
  
It took time and more effort than he would admit to anyone before Javier was finally willing to leave the relative safety of the empty men's room. Once he had, stepping out into the hallway with shoulders tensed as if expecting attack, he made the disheartening discovery that both Kevin and Tony were nowhere to be found. Instead, a young man waited patiently in the hallway. He had dark, curled hair and brown eyes, light brown skin, and his lips seemed to curve naturally into a soft, uncommonly gentle smile. Though dressed professionally enough he looked almost as out of place in the FBI headquarters as Javier felt; even the most generous estimate couldn't place the kid any older than twenty.  
  
"Sir," the young man greeted. "Special Agent Ryan said to tell you that Director Bennet needed to speak with him urgently. Sylar was involved, so Agent DiNozzo went with him. They asked me to stay behind and show you to your office, and let you know Ryan will join you as soon as he can."  
  
The kid's voice held a noticeable amount of curiosity, but not confusion. As though directing a superior to his own office wasn't even strange. The thought struck Javier suddenly that maybe, to him, it wasn't.  
  
Kevin and Tony both seemed familiar with his—what was it, exactly? Situation? Condition? As though it was simply a part of their lives to which they'd had to adapt. Tony's earlier sympathetic words hinted toward some similar experience in his past—where Javier could only reasonably define "similar" as being overwhelming and disarmingly bizarre. Everyone seemed keen on keeping him in the dark about exactly what their department was responsible for. Between the impossible element of time-travel and Tony's mention of "specials-involved" cases, the DSA was starting to sound like something out of _X-Files_.  
  
Suddenly all the fake vampires, psychics, alien abductions, and curses felt like some sort of twisted dress rehearsal.  
  
He didn't know what the word "Sylar" might mean, or why the men who had so carefully guided him this far had dropped everything to deal with it. Whatever it was, this kid didn't seem panicked, so Javier supposed that whatever urgency the situation commanded wasn't something he needed to worry about. He was quickly becoming exhausted with shock. Armoring himself, Javier resolved to try and take things as much in stride as he could.  
  
Or at least keep up that appearance.  
  
"Thank you, Agent...?"  
  
"Sanders, sir. Micah Sanders."  
  
The young man answered helpfully, _simply_ , and without hesitation. Javier was already starting to like this kid.  
  
As Agent Sanders lead him through the FBI warrens, they passed through additional security check points. Some seemed fairly standard, while others were equipped with odd machinery Javier couldn't hope to identify. They were not challenged at any of these save the last, where a short, nervous-looking young woman held them up briefly. The man staffing the check point with her watched them both with undisguised suspicion as she examined Javier closely, a hand hung discreetly near his waist. The woman put out her hands, fingertips hovering without touching, mere inches from Javier's temples.  
  
 _Yeah,_ definitely _some X-Files shit..._ Javier thought as her eyes continued to stare through him.  
  
Suddenly she blinked and pulled away, sucking in a breath as her face colored redly.  
  
"I am _so_ sorry, Special Agent Esposito," she said, pressing her hands to her brightening cheeks. The man who had been eyeing them so cautiously had visibly relaxed, and was fighting a grin and failing badly to hide it. "I didn't, uh, recognize you."  
  
He didn't like not being in on the joke. And, as the security man noticed Javier's narrowed gaze falling on him, suddenly he didn't seem to find it as funny either. As he watched the man's grin fell and he cleared his throat, standing up straight.  
  
 _Interesting_.  
  
"Is there anything else," Javier ventured brusquely, eyes still on the man as he tested a theory, "or may we continue?"  
  
"Er, no sir," the man responded hastily, thumbing some control at the terminal in front of him. A buzz sounded and the doors beyond the security station noisily disengaged their locks.  
  
Once they were past and the door closed behind them, Agent Sanders led him through some sort of communal work room or bull-pen, and then down a final hallway. The doors on either side bore plaques stamped with names. "Hansen, Reid"; "McGee, Sanders"; "Bennet"; "Peters, Dawson"; "Morgan, Morgan"; "L. Bennet, Strauss"; "DiNozzo, Berg". Finally they came before a door marked with his own name, and his partner's.  
  
Javier retrieved the keyring from his jacket pocket. There really were a frustrating number of them, all anonymous and unhelpful. With a sigh he chose one at random, trying the lock. The fourth key finally sank home.  
  
"Thank you for your help, Agent Sanders," Javier said sincerely, offering the young agent a nod and a thin smile. "I think I can handle waiting in an office on my own."  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
Javier turned the handle and slid through the doorway, letting the door swing closed behind him. Then he waited. Five seconds, ten, thirty...a minute.  
  
When he opened the door back up again, he was satisfied to see that Agent Sanders had gone about his own business. He stepped back out into the hall, scanning the doorways he'd passed on his way in. Though there were two Bennets listed on the doors, Sanders had said Kevin and Tony were meeting with a _Director_ Bennet, and someone with an important position like that most likely had their own office. Sure enough, as he drew near to the door he heard muffled speech on the other side of it. He recognized Kevin's voice easily, and Tony's carried well, elevated in a kind of exaggerated outrage.  
  
Unfortunately there was no chance for Javier to get a sense of their conversation before the office door opened.  
  
The man who stepped into the hall looked to be in his mid-fifties, once-blonde hair shot with grey. Sharp blue eyes took stock of Javier wordlessly, watching him from behind a pair of brow-line glasses. The man's glance turned briefly to the door and his mouth twisted in a faint, indecipherable smile. He dipped a brief nod before he continued down the hall wordlessly, leaving Javier his chance to listen at the door.  
  
"Fascist jerk," Tony was complaining testily.  
  
"You were expecting what exactly?" Kevin asked. "You know there's no reasoning with Bennet when Gabriel is involved."  
  
Tony made a noise then, which Javier had difficulty interpreting, except that it was a frustrated and unhappy one.  
  
"So," the agent said finally, clearly trying to push whatever it was from his mind. "Next order of business?"  
  
"Micah should have him in our office by now," Kevin said, which Javier could only assume referred to himself. "We can't leave him alone in there too long. Too much sensitive information, and I'd be willing to bet he's already started poking around, looking for answers."  
  
"I don't get it," Tony said, sounding genuinely confused. Which would have been nice _earlier_ , Javier felt, if just for the sake of fairness. "You guys have never been so...twitchy about this whole thing before. He has, what? Maybe one or two of these every couple months? He's never freaked out this bad. I mean, I remember he told me once that I helped him through a bad one... Is this what he meant?"  
  
"It'd have to be," Kevin said, almost absently, and when he continued Javier could easily detect the thread of anxiety that wound itself into his partner's voice. "Tony, I think this is his first time."  
  
"You mean he's coming into this from before..." Tony seemed genuinely alarmed.  
  
"Before everything. Before the Park Incident, or the DSA. Before the Zimmerman case. Before most of the world had even heard of specials... " Kevin paused, and that pause drew out too long before he spoke again, sounding oddly tired. "Before us. _Everything_."  
  
"Man..." Tony said after a contemplative almost-silence. "What do we tell him?"  
  
"Nothing," was Kevin's answer, quick and definite. "We're not telling him anything."  
  
"Not even about Reichardt?" Tony asked, his tone surprisingly cautious.  
  
The silence stretched out, painful and heavy, and when he finally answered, Kevin sounded so broken and _bitter_ Javier barely recognized his voice.  
  
"What _could_ I tell him, Tony? That he's about to destroy me so completely that only he can fix what's left?" Javier's stomach knotted, even as he heard his partner draw a shaky breath. In his mind's eye Javier could see him collecting back whatever composure he'd lost. "Look, Tony, this _is_ something Javier and I have talked about. It's importantto limit his exposure to details about the future. Because it's not set in stone."  
  
"You mean..."  
  
"For you and me, that past is over and done with," Kevin said, "but for _Javier_ none of it's happened yet."  
  
"Then he really can change the past—future. Whatever."  
  
"He can," Kevin said, hesitating audibly before he admitted, "he _has_. Once that I know of. But he doesn't always tell me where and when he goes, so...I don't know."  
  
"That's...kind of heavy," Tony said, clearly disturbed at the thought.  
  
"I trust him, Tony. I _do_. It's just...it's delicate. Dangerous. I mean, it can be hard to foresee all the consequences of any action..." Kevin trailed off, as though realizing, quiet when he continued so that Javier almost didn't hear. "Just look at what happened downstairs. What if that scares him off? For all I know, I just torpedoed our entire life together, past and future, with a single kiss."  
  
There was an abrupt noise, like a soft slap, and a muffled sound of Kevin's reaction to whatever had caused it.  
  
"Don't say that," Tony said, seriously. "You two were meant to be together—in a way that doesn't happen outside of shitty Keanu Reeves movies. I know it, you know it. _Javier_ knows it, whenever he is, and when he gets back the next head-slap is his."  
  
Javier felt he'd heard about as much as his sanity could handle on the subject of time travel _or_ Kevin for the moment. More than anything, he just wanted this to be over. To be _home_. To have the world make sense again. They were still in conversation when he slunk back down the hall.  
  
He wasn't running. He was just giving himself enough time to avoid their exit.  
  
Back in the office— _his office_ , he stifled the thought—Javier turned on the light and allowed himself to take the look he'd earlier avoided. Kevin expected him to be snooping, after all. Now that he'd effectively _finished_ snooping, he intended to look the part. It wasn't anything unusual; an office was an office, whether it was in New York or DC. Though it was fairly large, even with the space eaten up by the two desks. A quick glance offered no details that stuck out as particularly strange...though from the cheap, souvenir-grade Statue of Liberty on one of the desks, he would lay odds that it was Kevin's. Two of the walls were taken up by bookcases, and the one opposite the door by a low table and some shelves.  
  
The wall beside the door was cluttered with frames. A few contained certificates of some kind or another, but most held photographs.  
  
Javier's mind shied away from looking too closely, but one was just strange enough to hold his attention. In it, a group of maybe ten or twelve people were dressed in all white; jackets, pants, gloves...with a mesh helmet resting under each arm that he was slow to realize were fencer's masks. His eyes picked Kevin out of the crowd right away. It struck him as odd; while Kevin was interested in several sports—and would bet on practically anything—as far as Javier knew fencing wasn't one of them. Though a few seconds later he noticed Castle's face peeking out from the group as well, and perhaps it made more sense. Somehow.  
  
He let his eyes slide past the pictures without uncovering more unusual questions. He stayed away from the shelves. For now the bookcase seemed like the safest subject to occupy his focus. He was unsurprised when a familiar jacket design caught his eye. There were other authors on display, of course—Flemming, Patterson, Clancy, Gemcity, Brennan—but Castle's novels seemed to hold prominence. Many of the titles were unfamiliar—which also wasn't very surprising. Javier had never exactly been a "fan" the way Kate and Kevin were. Still, he knew that _Heat Rises_ and _Final Heat_ couldn't have been released yet in his time. There was simply no way Castle finished two more Nikki Heat books without making sure _everyone_ heard about it. Javier also thought he would remember a book called _This Blue Hour of Night_ , if only because the title was wordy and contrived and just so stereotypically _Castle_.  
  
The nearby titles _The Clock Struck Yesterday_ and _The Watchmaker's Son_ were made suspicious by their theme.  
  
One other book stood out to him. _The Man Who Wasn't There: A Hidden History_ appeared to be some kind of biography. The mere thought of Richard Castle writing non-fiction was almost as bizarre as the rest of his day had been. The departure was interesting enough for Javier to pull it from the shelf for a closer look. Castle's dedication, " _To my father_ ", was also interesting, but he had little enough time to think about it. No sooner had he seen the words before a small object fell from between the book's pages, hitting the carpet near his feet.  
  
His thumb brushed the imprint it left behind: a small, circular shape pressed into the pages that looked like it might have been a ring. But before he could see for sure, his vision swam oddly—  
  
—and suddenly he was fighting through a grey haze, struggling against a formless, numbing weight that kept his arms and legs from moving. He could feel himself trying to wake up, not all at once but tugged inch by inch, his awareness hanging just this side of waking... And only then did he become aware that he was sleeping, a sleep without dreams but without waking either. Aware of his body but unable to control it, it was worse than any nightmare he'd ever had. It stretched on for minutes—or hours, it was impossible to tell. And the more he fought, the more his panic grew until finally...  
  
Finally he surfaced, snapping awake with a soft noise choking in his throat.  
  
Javier lay back cautiously and tried to calm his breathing. His heart was still beating too fast, and while he wanted to let it settle down he didn't dare close his eyes. As he lay there, awake and terrified, he soon realized where he was, and Javier forced himself to relax. In the back of his mind he still felt a tickle of apprehension, though he was too exhausted to puzzle out why. A quick glance at his watch told him it was just past two in the morning. He turned on the TV, too low to provide more than white noise to drown out the shapeless terrors still lingering half-known to his memory.  
  
He hadn't thought that sleep would come easy, and yet when he woke again, hours later, sunlight was struggling in through the curtains. And, from the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen, Kevin was already awake. Javier sat up slowly, confused. He knew that he had spent the night on the couch in Kevin's apartment, but he couldn't immediately remember how he'd gotten there.  
  
"Kev?" Javier asked, his voice small and dry from sleep. "What happened last night?"  
  
Footsteps behind him, and Kevin leaned over the back of his couch with a mug of coffee in his hand.  
  
"I didn't think you were that drunk, bro," Kevin said, concerned, forehead creasing with worry.  
  
The expression inspired a queasy moment of _déjà vu_ , one which Javier fought to place... And then he remembered. His―dream? It had to have been. Javier gripped that certainty as tightly as he could. It was crazy to think it was anything else, however real any of it had seemed.  
  
 _Or felt_.  
  
Kevin's frown of concern deepened, and Javier realized he was still staring at the cup his partner held out to him. He took the mug with a nod of thanks, not trusting his voice to offer more than that. In a few moments, Kevin returned with his own cup, and Javier swung his feet off the couch to make room without thought. His partner was dressed in the t-shirt and loose pants he'd worn to bed, barefoot and still softly rumpled from sleep. Javier felt suddenly embarrassed seeing him that way. Not that it was strange. It had never been strange before. This wasn't the first time Javier had spent the night, or even the first time he'd seen Kevin in his sleep wear. But it had never felt... _intimate_ before. Jesus, why did it have to feel that way now?  
  
"What's the last thing you remember?" Kevin asked. Javier's thoughts were so preoccupied, he nearly missed the question.  
  
"Uh, the bar," Javier answered after a moment's thought, taking longer than he liked to separate reality from what was...not. "Losing the bet."  
  
"Well, Beckett left after that," Kevin supplied, dragging idle fingers through his tousled hair. "Then Castle bought a round for the bar, then one more for just us. Then you paid for the rest of our drinks like a good boy, and we got ready to head off. Only, Jenny texted me, saying she'd run into a friend from college and she wanted to catch up. And you suggested we rent some movies, so that's what we did."  
  
Javier frowned, trying to push some memory of any of what Kevin described. None of it was coming.  
  
"What movies did we get?" Javier asked, hoping that might spur some kind of recollection.  
  
"The new Bond flick and some weird old sci-fi movie—which _you_ picked out for once," Kevin said, leaning over to get the boxes from the table, handing one over. "We watched that one first, but then I started nodding out halfway through, so we never got around to the other."  
  
As Javier scanned the box's description the film definitely rang bells for him, though for all the wrong reasons.  
  
 _"The 1972 film adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut's timetravel classic,_  
 _'Slaughterhouse-Five' tells the story of Billy Pilgrim: a man, unstuck in time._  
 _Follow Billy's story as he bounces around through the years of his life,_  
 _from a POW camp during World War II and the Allied bombing of Dresden,_  
 _to an extraterrestrial zoo on a far off planet. This dark and intellectual_  
 _comedy sheds a unique perspective on the humanity, the human condition_  
 _and our perception of time."_  
  
"Hey," Kevin asked softly after a few moments, "Really, Javi, are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah I'm fine," Javier said. He dropped the box in his lap, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Just had some weird-ass dreams last night."  
  
Kevin watched him skeptically for a few seconds before he gave a helpless shrug and sat back to finish his coffee.  
  
 _Dreams_ , Javier thought, trying to make himself believe it. _Just dreams brought on by weird old movies and spending too much time around Castle._  
  
It was the sane explanation, after all. He might not remember watching the movie with Kevin, but apparently he had. Must have, because Kevin said so. But then, he also said that Javier had chosen the movie, and if that was the case, why? Before today, he would have sworn up and down he'd never heard of it before, let alone held any desire to see it. It was so far outside of his tastes he couldn't begin to imagine what could have possessed him to pick it out. Still, the film easily explained the bizarre time-travel element of the dream. For all he knew there was a character in the film that would explain DiNozzo, or else the figure might just as easily have been based on Castle...  
  
He'd just have to watch it to find out. Later. Some day. When he had the time.  
  
Once he'd finished with his coffee Javier began gathering his things to head out the door. Kevin had promised him breakfast if he stuck around, but he had decided that maybe it was best if he didn't. He called a cab. It became easier to think the farther he put the dream—and the movie, and Kevin's apartment—behind him. Easier to accept that the visions that had left him so rattled hadn't been real.  
  
There were only two small details standing in the way of that conviction, though he didn't discover them until later.  
  
Before leaving Kevin's apartment, Javier had tried to check his messages, only to discover his phone had died. Once he got home, he plugged it in to charge while he undressed for a long, cold shower. By the time he was finished his head was much clearer, and the battery had enough juice to give his inbox a quick look. He had more than a few old texts left from last night and the day before, but only two messages were unread. The first was from Castle, sent about an hour before he'd left Kevin's. It was a textless attachment sent to multiple recipients containing a bunch of phone-snapped photographs dated from the previous night. He flipped through them, half his attention on the battery icon on his screen.  
  
Around 9:52 pm, Castle had taken a few pictures of various patrons enjoying their drinks, a few of them raised toward the camera in salute. The round Castle had bought them, Javier figured. At 10:03 the writer had apparently asked someone else to take a couple more of Kevin and Javier and himself. They shared a drink that Javier couldn't identify but that, knowing Castle, was probably top shelf and as ridiculous as he was. At 10:06, Javier had apparently pulled Kevin over to pose for a photo. It had taken Castle five tries to be satisfied. Blinks, false starts. In the final photograph, he and Kevin stood before one of the Old Haunt's cluttered walls. Kevin's smile was bright and genuine, despite the time it had taken to stage the picture. Javier's was more subdued, a fond almost-smirk.  
  
For a few seconds Javier couldn't move, couldn't even _breathe_ , and only half because it was the exact same picture he'd seen in his dream. It was another detail altogether that chilled his blood, one which he'd only now noticed. One that he couldn't believe he'd failed to notice in the first four images—couldn't believe that _Kevin_ had failed to notice the night the picture was taken. In the photograph, he and Kevin stood very close together, as they quite often did, only in _this_ photo and all the ones which lead to it Javier's arm was curled loosely around his partner's waist, his hand resting lightly on Kevin's hip.  
  
They never stood like that. _Never_.  
  
The rapid blinking of the battery light eventually dragged his attention away from the man in the photograph, the stranger with the knowing smirk.  
  
The other item in his inbox was a voice-mail message, recorded around 12:53. A voice message which he'd apparently sent to himself. Apparently. He lifted the speaker to his ear, listening to the soft, repetitive tone of the battery alarm. His thumb rested on the button that would play the message, the plastic growing warm and slick against his sweating skin. He took a deep breath, two, a third with his eyes closed.  
  
He couldn't. He just _couldn't_.  
  
Javier hit delete. Twice. Rapidly—not looking at the screen, and not daring to take a chance that he might change his mind. He dropped the phone onto the coffee table, staring at it for over a minute before any coherent thought would come.  
  
Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow he would go to work. He would go to work, and he would _not_ tell Kevin about any of this. He wouldn't tell Kate, and _definitely_ not Castle. He wouldn't tell anybody. The day after that, he'd do the same. And the next day, and the day after that. Eventually, he was sure, he would forget that this ever happened. And if he couldn't forget the dream, hopefully he could forget that he'd ever entertained the thought that it was anything else. And, he told himself firmly, he _desperately_ needed to find a girlfriend. Because dreams— _dreams_ —about his partner like the one he'd had last night could _not_ happen again.  
  
And the photograph... Well, he'd delete that too. Later. Some day. When he had the time.


End file.
